Breaking Point
“You…gonna get that?”
Beneath the question, Frank’s voice jingles with a laugh.
It makes Bill feel utterly miserable. And he almost snaps at Frank then.
Because NO! He's not planning to answer the damn door!
Bill never answers the door, not without checking the cameras first. He doesn't usually get visitors to begin with, so, safer to assume the worst.
Up until this point, they've almost always been solicitors. But Bill just knows it's going to bite him in the ass the second he lets his guard down.
Getting to the cameras is its own issue though, at least with Frank here.
The cameras are in the bunker, meaning he has to go down to the basement to get to the main entry point (there are emergency exits, but none he's willing to compromise today.)
Bill had locked the basement door last night; stashed the key. If he goes to retrieve it now, no doubt Frank will follow him, rendering that hiding spot null and void. It'll mess up his whole system…
Maybe Frank will stay put if Bill asks him to, just for a few minutes.
But he'll have questions.
Frank always has questions.
Whoever is at his door knocks again, more emphatically.
The absolute nerve of this asshat – showing up at my goddamn door, acting like they have any right to be fuckin' impatient!
"Here, I can get it."
Frank shifts his tray forward and rises to his feet, startling Bill from his thoughts.
"No." Bill says sharply, standing so quickly, he almost topples his breakfast tray with his knees.
"I don't mind, really!" Frank is just a step or two from the hall now.
"Frank, don't!"
Frank stops walking and turns to look at him, expression rippling with concern.
And, okay.
Fine.
Maybe Bill's being a smidge intense.
But it worked, at least! He'd regained some kind of control of the situation. And Frank will be thanking him later if there is someone nefarious out there.
"I-I.." Bill huffs out a breath, avoiding his guest's disarming gaze, "I can answer my own goddamn door."
As he moves past Frank and into the entryway, Bill tries to focus on the door, a plan of action, something…anything…
But these presumed fears give way beneath the nauseating panic Bill feels here and now.
God, you’re fuckin’ it up. You’re fuckin’ it up again.
So, he will take whoever’s at the door, without a plan and without checking the cameras. At least it will delay the humiliation to come, when Frank inevitably realizes he’s made a mistake.
Frank’s grieving. That’s all this is.
"Hey there!"
Bill blinks down at the woman standing on his porch. She puts her hands on her hips and looks back at him, eyes sparkling with vigor. He doesn't recognize her, but has this creeping feeling that he should…
"I'm Melody – Melody Brightman; we own the house next door. My brother was supposed to let us in this morning, but he isn't answering the door. Just wonderin' if you've seen him around?" She smiles and tucks an unruly strand of hair behind her ear.
When Bill doesn't answer right away, Melody continues, "He usually jogs in the morning, early – like, ass-crack-of-dawn early. Taller than me," she lifts her hand to indicate height, "scruffy beard, answers to Frank…"
Almost automatically, Bill looks over his shoulder. Frank is no longer behind him or anywhere in sight.
When he turns back to Melody, her smile has shifted to more of a knowing smirk.
"Oh!"
Of course she's Frank's sister. They have the same smile, with a crinkle around the eyes and an insufferable air of mischief.
"He's here, isn't he?"
Bill really should have let Frank answer the door after all.
"Frankie, I know you're in there! I need the keys!"
"Mel, you find him?" Another woman comes into view from the street. She walks up the path to Bill's house but stops before the porch steps.
"Oh, I fuckin' found him! Tell Steve he better pay up!"
“Jesus Mel, okay! Call off the dogs, will ya?” Seemingly out of nowhere, Frank appears at Bill's side. Bill shifts out of the way, relieved to let him take over the doorway.
About fucking time.
“Since we’re takin’ bets now, how about this one? Twenty bucks you can’t get the keys without Erika’s help, Mellipede.”
Bill watches as Frank dangles the keys above Melody’s head, just far enough that she can’t reach them. In return, Melody gives him the stink eye, “Oh, fuck off, Frankenstein!!"
"Both of you, cut the shit." The woman behind Melody – Erika, most likely – sighs in exasperation, “Frank, we’ve been waiting for over an hour. Dad's convinced you're lying dead on the side of the road somewhere – has Jeff driving him all around town. So, unless you want to impose a family reunion on your friend's doorstep, I suggest you get your ass out here."
"For the record, I count this as Erika helping." Frank chuckles dryly and hands Melody the keys, "I'm sorry, just lost track of time. I'll be over in ten, maybe fifteen, okay?"
Melody smirks again, cocking her brow. Even though she isn't looking at him, Bill slinks further back in the entryway.
Usually, Bill is pretty good at blending into the shadows. Unfortunately, Frank is like a goddamn beacon, illuminating anything in his immediate vicinity.
God, he fucking hates this. Frank's family showing up at his front door, it makes Bill feel so exposed. Even more though, he hates how he still can't bring himself to regret inviting Frank inside.
"See ya when I see ya!" Melody makes a point to pucker her lips at her brother, even as Erika tugs impatiently at her arm.
"So long! Farewell! Auf Wiedersehen! Adieu!" Frank replies in a sing-songy voice, waving emphatically as he starts to close the door.
"Come on, Melody–" Bill hears Erika say. And then, her words are muffled by the door between them.
–
Frank sighs heavily and presses his back to the door. How had he forgotten everyone was coming to the house today?
Jeff was right – he needs a break.
Though, he certainly can't seem to catch one.
"My god! I'm really sorry about that." Frank looks over at Bill, finding him huddled in the very corner of the entryway, eyes downcast.
Fuck.
Frank swallows down his threatening nerves. Really, he's not sure they can come back from this, delicate as things are between them.
For a moment, everything had felt perfect. Frank had been almost certain that, finally, after decades, it was actually possible to pick-up where they'd left off. This time though, things would be different. They would be better.
But now, that moment is long gone, and Frank's left trying to pick up the pieces. Again.
"Bill?"
Bill shuffles uncomfortably, fingers clutching at the seams of his pants.
Frank is going to have some fucking choice words for Melody tonight, that's for sure.
"Is…it okay if we finish breakfast? Then I'll get outta your hair, scout's honor."
Finally, Bill nods. He lifts his eyes just long enough to get some sort of confirmation from Frank, then turns towards the living room almost robotically.
They resume eating in silence. It's a strained and anxious silence, different from the night before. Frank feels like he should say something, but he's afraid he'll just make things worse.
"Thank you." Better than another I'm sorry, at least. It still doesn't feel like enough.
Frank settles back into the couch, watching Bill with lidded eyes.
Bill sits stiffly on the edge of the couch, poking at the remains of breakfast with his fork. He isn't looking at Frank, his face partially obscured by a curtain of sable hair.
Frank can't stand it, the way Bill's folded back in on himself.
"Thank you." He repeats, voice thick with all the other things he longs to say.
This time, Bill looks at him. "You're welcome."
Bill’s eyes are starting to look a bit less haunted now. Frank notes how he scrunches his brow in an attempt to stifle the emotion already bleeding through.
Granting his host some semblance of privacy, Frank downs his (regrettably lukewarm) coffee and rises to his feet. Bill rises too, and he walks him to the door before Frank can even ask.
As they step back into the cramped entryway, the tension feels more palpable now. The front door is dark and looming, a stark contrast to the light that leaks in through the living room windows. His fingers brush the doorknob, and the cold metal makes Frank shiver in a way that ignites his restless core.
If he leaves now, Frank realizes, that’s it. The walls go back up.
The walls are already back up, he’s just on the inside of them right now.
But once he steps out that door, back into the real world, Frank has no way of knowing if it will open again (for him or for anyone.)
Bill lingers in the small space between the hall and the entryway, leaning against the doorframe. He tucks his hair behind his ear and watches Frank intently, the way one does when they want to hold a moment in their memory.
So he feels it too, then – the finality.
Frank offers his hand, inviting Bill to join him in what may very well be their undoing.
Bill's eyes flick from the hand back up to Frank's face. Gingerly, in a way that appears to take a great deal of effort, Bill peels himself from the wall and inches forward.
Frank allows Bill to come to him, to take his hand, before he steps forward to close the space between them. He squeezes Bill's hand and releases it, trailing his fingers upwards until they come to rest at his shoulder.
There it is again, that petrified look. But this time, Bill is not gazing into Frank's eyes. Instead, he's staring at his lips with frightened, unmistakable longing.
Before he can lose his nerve, Frank goes in for the kill. It comes as a delightful surprise when Bill leans in to meet him, and their mouths lock together like magnets.
Bill's lips are slightly chapped, yet soft in contrast to the perfectly rough scratch of his beard. He smells like coffee, somewhat bitter with the promise of residual sweetness, and Frank runs his tongue across the curve of the other man's bottom lip, eager to sample his taste.
Bill grasps his arm reactively and presses forward with such raw strength, Frank feels his back slam against the front door. Breathless now and insatiably needy, Frank wraps his arms around Bill, gathering him closer and closer still. They are a tangle of limbs, and lips, and tongues, clinging together in desperate, grinding movements, until the eventual need for air causes them to part.
Frank draws in a breath and leans his head back against the door. He flutters his eyelids, suddenly aware of the weight of tears as they slide from his lashes and streak down his cheeks. He's aware, too, of the way Bill shudders in his arms – a house of cards seconds from collapse.
Bill, whose mouth hangs open in a silent gasp, even as his eyes remain squeezed shut… Until he braces his palm against the door and peers up at Frank through wavering slits.
Frank's first instinct is to hold on tighter, to pull him back in, but he catches himself. The last thing he wants is to make Bill feel trapped or as if he isn’t allowed to change his mind…
So, Frank offers his softest, most reassuring smile and releases the embrace. Instead, he cups the other man's shoulders with light, intentional pressure – this is a request, not a demand.
As he studies Bill's features – his doe-eyed gaze and knitted brows; the warm flush beneath his cheeks, which reaches the very tip of his nose; the way his facial hair quivers with each shaky inhale and exhale – Frank considers how every imagined moment falls short of the real thing.
“You…doin' anything later?"